


raindrops on roses (sometimes there are)

by electrumqueen



Category: Charlotte Sometimes (Musician), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrumqueen/pseuds/electrumqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Ross meets Charlotte Sometimes at a concert. Things go from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raindrops on roses (sometimes there are)

"charlotte sometimes," pete says, syllables heavy on his tongue. "jessie poland. what do you know?"

  


"cash says she's hot," ryan says, blowing a smoke-ring into the air. "marshall has a crush."

  


"marshall has a crush on everyone," pete says, and then his sidekick buzzes, "fuck, i have to go, ash wants pickles and peanut butter. but she's totally smokin'."

  


"i'm pretty sure you have to say that about the woman who's carrying your _baby_," ryan says lazily, "you're so whipped."

  


"both of them," pete says, pushing himself up on the palms of his hands. "charlotte, too, i mean. you could hit that."

  


ryan rolls his eyes. they feel heavy, he thinks it might be the weed. "just because keltie and me broke up it doesn't mean i'm desperate, pete."

  


"whatever," pete says, "_keltie and i_, english major."

  


"it's not like i'm suffering from lack of _sex _or anything, i'm pretty sure i could get brendon if i wanted--"

  


pete raises an eyebrow.

  


"yeah, okay, maybe not. don't worry, there are like seventy songs in my notebook, you'll get an album out of this one."

  


"whatever, dude," pete says, but even stoned out of his mind ryan can tell he's worried. "going now, text me."

  


ryan rolls his eyes again, rolls over into the beanbag, smushes his face into green polyester and falls asleep. if he dreams about keltie, he's not pete, he's not going to blog about it later.

  


\--

  


after three weeks of ryan's bandmates walking on eggshells and trying to set him up with whatever girl they can find who seems nice, cash invites brendon out to one of the cab's shows. ryan, jon and spencer tag along; ryan's mostly there to stop jon and spencer getting in trouble when they start making out during the cab's set, brendon's otherwise absorbed staring at cash's hands ("oh god, ryan, his hands and his _mouth_ and that fucking _hideous _tattoo, i want one!") which leaves ryan being the responsible one; he's not really used to that, it used to be all spence.

  


he sticks jon and spencer backstage with cash and brendon (and he loves his band, really, but that much sickening happily-ever-after cuteness is too much right now, after his fairytale princess has ridden off into the sunset by herself, left him behind with a broken heart even if he's less shattered than he used to be) and settles into the crowd of kids, most of whom are priding themselves on not knowing his name. he gets a couple of little flashes of recognition, when his eyes flick past, and slides past quickly with a fleeting grin-- _no, i'm not who you want, not tonight_.

  


he leans back against the wall at the back of the room, watches the empty stage, drumkit proclaiming _charlotte sometimes _and he gets a brief flash of memory, pete's hot girl. she's really hot, actually, when she slinks onstage, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark low voice, humming deep into his bones.

  


and her lyrics are fucking _vicious_. ryan tilts his head to one side, watches her closely, eyes following the form of her shiny-pretty 50's-style dress, brushes his fingers over his apricot ascot.

  


after her set's done he heads backstage, sticks his hands in his pockets. she's grinning, that wild post-show euphoria sliding through her veins, visible, and he gets this feeling, like, back when he was seventeen, back when music and shows were the only things that mattered, back when jac was ryan's idea of the best girl ever, back when keltie wasn't even a dream. he's not sure he's comfortable with it, not entirely, but it's really, really easy to slide back into the scene.

  


"hey," he says, sticking out his hand, "awesome show. i'm ryan."

  


she turns that full-bore, loose-bright smile on him. "charlotte," she says, "thank you so much!" and she's whirling off, off and away, ensconced by her band, and he thinks, _i always had a thing for unattainable girls, right?_

  


brendon drapes an arm over his shoulder. "_totally _out of your league," he mutters, whisper-smooth into ryan's ear, "she turned down _marshall, _that's like kicking puppies."

  


ryan rolls his eyes. "you smell like pot," he says, "i'm not listening to anything you say."

  


\--

  


keltie was bright blonde, happy and smiley and it's hard for him now not to shove her into that caricature-box, like he's done with all the other girls who broke his heart, because keltie fixed him first. keltie's not a bimbo, not fake, even if sometimes it hurts for him to think that he might have broken her just as well as she broke him.

  


charlotte's kind of the total opposite; keltie didn't care about fashion, not beyond wearing what everyone else was wearing, and charlotte will someday start her own line, which ryan thinks will probably be judged on its own merits, unlike pete's. charlotte sings, and she writes songs that are like, counterpoint to ryan's own, and he finds some part of himself buzzing to her voice.

  


cash colligan shoots him a grin. "so, that's charlotte," he says, "you want us to introduce you? i know you'd really prefer to go the long, stalkery way, but you need to be in iowa in two days, so i'm thinking that might be difficult."

  


ryan shoots him a spencer-smith glare. "stop being a douche," he says, "go make out with your boyfriend. i can get _myself _introduced, thank you very much." _also, _he thinks, _i blame you for brendon's tattoo, and i'm never forgiving you._

  


spencer shoots him a wary look. it says, _be careful, _in spencer-speak.

  


ryan says, "shut up." it's ryan-speak for, _shut up._ knowing spencer, he'll translate it as, _i need to talk,_ so ryan hustles his ass out of there. his shoes slip a little on the floor and he puts out his hand to the wall to steady himself. he looks down, and looks away. that's definitely _not _vomit. or if it is, ryan doesn't want to know.

  


\--

  


the cab's set is good, is really, really good; cash is on fire, grinning at brendon the whole time, and brendon spends the whole thing with a gigantic smile on his face. jon and spencer maybe make out way too much, but ryan's on the other side of the stage so he just laughs with trace, lets the grin settle onto his face.

  


he maybe dances a little, awkwardly because he's still awkward, still gangly and unfinished (not like keltie) and that's actually okay, he's starting to realize, and so he's a little distracted and doesn't notice when trace gets a girl hanging off his shoulders. until she starts laughing.

  


"hey," trace says, "give the man a break. he's old."

  


charlotte sometimes puts her hand over her mouth and ryan wheels to a stop. "twenty-three is not old."

  


"that's what twenty-three-year-olds say," charlotte says, grin sliding out past her fingers. "hi again."

  


"hi," ryan says, again.

  


trace whirls and tickles charlotte. "seriously, get off me."

  


she laughs, throws her hands up. "fine, fine, i'll talk to the guy who can't dance. he'll amuse me. since you don't want to."

  


"nice to meet you, too," ryan says. "good to know i was your first choice." he half-smiles, ducks his head a little so she knows he's not actually a bitch. (the brendon in his head counters that _no, you actually are,_ and he tells it to shut up or he'll hide the red bull, fuck the sanity of their bus.)

  


"i'm charlotte sometimes," charlotte says, disentangling herself from trace and tilting her head to the side, bird-like. "you?"

  


"ryan ross," he says, sticking out his hand before realizing that, actually, she's a couple of steps away, and there's a whole convoluted mess of movement that basically ends with him tripping over his feet and humiliating himself in front of a really hot girl.

  


trace laughs and laughs and laughs, and then excuses himself. "i'm sensing that you two would like some alone time right now," he says, disappearing into the whirling crowd of scene.

  


ryan tosses him the bird and looks over to see charlotte doing the same.

  


she giggles, post-show euphoria obviously not gone, and slips her arms around his shoulders, "wanna dance? i'll teach you."

  


he thinks, _keltie,_ but he smiles back and puts his hands on her waist. her dress is silky against his fingertips, whispering as she moves. "i don't know, do you know what you're doing?"

  


her breath is warm against the shell of his ear, voice low like she's singing. "wanna find out?"

  


"is that some kind of euphemism?" he asks; she's a hair taller than him, thanks to the brightly-coloured heels.

  


she drops her head forward onto his shoulder, hair falling onto his neck, soft and sweaty. "give it a little time," she breathes, and pulls back, turns a little to the stage. "oh, i _love _this song!" she pulls him into the rhythm, into the crush of bodies and flat-ironed hair that takes way too long to do and stings in your face just the same as normal, giving him a beat he's never really had, always had to borrow it from other people.

  


singer leans into the mic, _i've only got forever and forever is fine, _and his eyes are gleaming with all the camera-flashes.

  


\--

  


eventually the cab's set winds down and the crowd subsides, charlotte slowing too; he takes it as a signal to go lean against a wall, though his eyes flick over at charlotte, and his steps are maybe a little hesitant.

  


she grins. "you haven't been in the thick of it lately, huh."

  


he lets out a breath. the air comes into his lungs, desperate. "maybe." he is _so _out of practice; someone stepped on his foot, and it's throbbing.

  


she shakes her head, as if to clear it. "you want to get a drink? i know the bartender."

  


he resists the urge to say, _in the biblical sense?_ and shrugs instead. "sure," he says, "whatever you're having."

  


she flashes him a bright, meteoric grin. "you realize that's going to leave you with something bright pink," but leaves before he has time to respond, disappearing into the crowd in a whirl of kaleidoscopic colours and dark hair.

  


he keeps breathing.

  


\--

  


charlotte's heels click on the floor. she hands him something neon in a cocktail-glass and smiles, just slightly, corner of her mouth quirking up; the smile rests deep in her eyes.

  


ryan swallows something in his throat, hopes he isn't completely misreading signals (as he's been known to do) and kisses charlotte. her fruity drink sloshes in her hand, staining the floor, but she ignores it, kissing him back instead.

  


his glass starts to slip from his fingers and he puts it down on the ground, bending awkwardly soas not to lose contact with her, figures he's done his part for there not being broken glass with which scenekids can slit their wrists for sheer shock value.

  


she breaks contact, takes a breath. "what the fuck?"

  


"just doing my part for the environment," he says, knows it doesn't make any sense, but it was a good kiss. it had no echoes of keltie.

  


\--

  


charlotte rolls over, writing on her wrists glowing black in the moonlight. "hey," she says, "you know i used to dance, right."

  


ryan shrugs, which is kind of hard to do when there are blankets wrapped really tight around you; he manages anyway. "so what?"

  


"i do read the internet, on occasion," she says, "your ex--"

  


"is my ex," ryan says, "can we not?" and he kisses her forehead, just gently, like he knows what he's doing.

  


she hums, low under her breath, _i don't believe you, _but she runs her lips over his wrists anyway, twin to hers, only different words, and he can feel her breath, almost like a benediction.

  


"you want to maybe sleep now?" he asks, and she laughs into his skin and rests her head on his chest, and her hair gets into his nose and he sneezes.

  



End file.
